


Croatoan

by Clowns_or_Midgets



Series: The Sound Of Silence [7]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s02e09 Croatoan, Sam Winchester's Visions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-02
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 12:48:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19063015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Clowns_or_Midgets/pseuds/Clowns_or_Midgets
Summary: Sam has a vision that leads him and John to River Grove, Oregon, and Dean is left behind to stop him killing what looked like an innocent kid. What happens there leads Sam to a locked room with a gun to his head and John powerless to find the words to stop him.





	Croatoan

Dean was worried. Ever since the accident, Sam had been withdrawn. He spent hours sitting out on the back porch, staring out over the junkers into the distance. Sometimes Dean sat with him, but for all the notice Sam took, he might not have bothered. He persisted, though, wanting his brother to know he wasn’t alone in this; they were all there for him.

The problem was that Dean knew exactly what Sam needed to get through this, but he couldn’t give it to him. Sam needed to talk. He had always processed his feelings by vocalizing them—sometimes making Dean crazy with it. But now he couldn’t talk. He was stuck in his world of voiceless silence and none of them could do a thing to fix it.

Dean knew that if he had been the one there on that road, trying desperately to save that poor woman, he would be struggling to get through it now, too. It would have been easier for him, though, as he would have had the reassurance that he had been able to do more for her than Sam had. He could have at least told her she would be okay; he could have lied to comfort her. Sam hadn’t been able to do even that. He had had to watch the poor woman die without being able to speak a single sensible word.

Dean felt helpless now, unable to find the words to comfort Sam, so he did what he could. He brought him coffee and food. He made sure he was eating and sleeping as much as he could, keeping the house as quiet as possible when Sam was catching a few precious hours of sleep. 

 He was making Sam a sandwich to deliver to him outside, when he heard the cry. He dropped the jar of mayonnaise down onto the counter and ran out through the back door, scared of what he would find.

Sam was sitting on the steps, curled over himself with his hand pressed to his forehead and his features twisted with pain. Dean knew at once it was a vision. He knelt beside him and laid a hand on his back. Sam moaned again, a sound like a wounded animal that made Dean’s heart ache for him and his fingers curl.

“It’s okay,” he said gently. “You’re okay, Sam. I’m here.” That was all he could do: be there until it passed and then try to make sense of whatever way Sam used to communicate what he had seen.

As Sam groaned through another surge of pain, Dean thought of how much they didn’t need whatever this was right now, how much Sam didn’t. What Sam needed was peace, not a new fight.

The back door opened and John’s heavy footsteps crossed the porch, bringing him to stand in front of Sam and Dean. For a moment, his hand reached forward as if he was going to touch Sam, but then it dropped back to his side.

“You’re okay, Sam,” he said, not unkindly but not comfortingly either.

Sam nodded, even though his face was still pained.

It seemed to take a long time before the pain faded from his features to be replaced by worry. He got swiftly to his feet and then swayed. John caught his shoulders and held him steady. Sam took a moment to get his feet under him and then he turned and hurried into the house. John and Dean exchanged a glance and then followed him inside.

They found him bent over Bobby’s desk, a road atlas open in front of him. He turned a couple pages and then slammed his finger down on a spot. Dean looked over his shoulder and said, “Oregon, Sammy?”

Sam nodded and tapped the spot again. Dean bent closer and said, “River Grove. We need to get there?”

Sam shook his head viciously.

Dean frowned. “We _don’t_ need to go there?”

Sam raked a hand through his hair, his eyes tight with tension.

“What is it?” John asked.

Sam glanced at him, looking frustrated. He patted his chest and then John’s and pointed at the map.

“We need to go there?” he asked. “Me and you?” He hesitated. “Not Dean?”

Sam shook his head and patted John’s chest again, then pointed at Dean and shook his head curtly.

“Dean can’t come?” John asked.

Sam looked relieved as he nodded.

“What?” Dean asked angrily. “No, Sam, I have to come.”

Sam shook his head and turned away, making for the door.

“Wait!” Dean called after him. “Sam!”

Sam turned at the door and stared apologetically into Dean’s eyes. For a moment, Dean thought he was going to try to say something, but he merely shook his head and held up a hand in a clear command for him to not follow; then he walked out onto the porch, letting the door swing closed behind him.

Dean fixed his eyes on his father. “What the hell am I supposed to do?”

“You’re supposed to stay,” John said. “Whatever he’s seen involves you, and if he’s being this firm on you not coming, it has to be for a good reason. We have to trust him on this; he’s the one with all the information.”

Dean was torn. He had a bad feeling about this. He wanted to be there with his brother, to protect him from whatever he had seen.

As if John knew what he was thinking, he said, “You have to stay, Dean.”

At that moment, Sam stuck his head back into the kitchen and slammed a hand on the wall looking impatient.

John nodded. “I’m coming.”

Sam disappeared again and Dean heard the sound of John’s truck coming to life.

As John made for the door, Dean grabbed his arm. “I swear to God, Dad, you better take care of him. I’m trusting you with him.”

John’s expression darkened for a moment and then he nodded. “I will, I promise.”

Dean watched him stride from the room and then listened to the sound of the truck pulling away from the house toward the road.

His heart was heavy with worry for his father and brother. For the first time in a long time, he wouldn’t be there to protect Sam, just like he hadn’t been when Sam ran back into that burning building.  

xXx

Even as they powered towards Oregon, Sam fought a sense of doubt about the situation. When he’d had the vision, his first instinct had been to keep what he had seen to himself and do nothing. He didn’t want Dean to kill that man. He didn’t want to see the life ended, but more than that, he didn’t want Dean to have to live with the knowledge that he had ended the life of what sure as hell looked like an innocent and scared young man.

But there was more still. There was what had been said: “It’s not in me!” What was _it_ and what did it mean for the other people he’d seen in the vision? There had been two women and a man there with Dean and the scared man. He couldn’t leave those people to face _it_ alone. So he had to go, but Dean couldn’t be there.

The idea to take John instead didn’t feel like the answer either. His other option was to go alone, but without a way to communicate with those people, he would be next to useless. He had proven that with the car accident. John was a better fighter than Sam, and he wasn’t constrained by a life without a voice, so he was the best option available.

It had hurt to leave Dean behind, though, looking scared and almost betrayed. Sam wished there was a way to make him understand. It wasn’t that he didn’t want or need Dean, he did more than anything; it was just that he was trying to protect him.

Sam drove the first leg of the journey, taking them all the way through to Idaho before John insisted on switching off at a gas station so Sam could get some sleep. Sam managed to communicate his refusal well enough, but John wasn’t accepting no for an answer. His argument that Sam needed to be rested for whatever it was waiting for them in Oregon won out. Sam hadn’t been sleeping well lately, and he was running into two days without rest, so he reluctantly allowed John to take the wheel and made himself comfortable in the passenger seat and slept for a few hours.

When they moved from the freeway to the smaller roads that would lead them to River Grove, Sam woke and sat straight in his seat.

“You didn’t sleep much,” John commented.

Sam shrugged. Like it even mattered. He was going into this thing to fight and save, rested or not.

John scowled. “You could sleep another half hour. We’re still fifty miles out.”

Sam made a gesture with his hand, swirling it through the air in a clear message. John got it; his foot pressed down harder on the accelerator.

xXx

When they got into town, Sam eyes scanned the streets, hoping to see some sign of what was happening in his vision—fear, panic, fighting. There was nothing, though. It looked like a normal small town. Sam knew he was going to have to put in some leg work to find out what was happening, which would be tough even if he had a voice, almost impossible without.

John drove them to Main Street and parked up in front of a clothing store. He turned in his seat and said, “So, what are we looking for?”

Sam opened his mouth and then snapped it shut again in frustration. He climbed out of the truck and looked up and down the street, though it was highly unlikely that he was going to spot the man from his vision walking up the street to him, ready to make it all much easier.

John met him on the sidewalk and caught his roving gaze. “Okay, son, you’ve got to help me here. Are we looking for a person or a place?”

When was he going to learn not to ask questions that required a verbal answer? Sam needed yes/no questions. He sighed out his frustration and pointed at his father.

“A person?”

Sam nodded emphatically.

“How old?”

Sam flashed his fingers twice and then hesitated and held up another five.

“Twenties?”

He nodded again.

John looked up and down the street, frustration etching lines into his brow. Sam was sure their thoughts were along the same track—how were they supposed to track down one man in a whole town?

Sam called to mind the vision. His thoughts wanted to flinch away from the terrified young man’s face, moments from death at Dean’s hand, but he forced himself to look at it, searching for clues he could somehow communicate with his father. He noted there was a thin scar on the young man’s temple.

Sam turned his attention back to his father and pulled up his sleeve to show the scar he had earned on one of his first hunts when he’d managed to lose his knife to the werewolf he was facing. The damn thing had managed to draw blood on Sam when Sam had tackled it. He tapped the scar and then pointed to his temple at the same spot the kid had been scarred.  

“He’s scarred?” John asked. “There?”

Sam nodded.  

John looked relieved. “That’s good, son. We can work with that.” He looked up and down the street and then smiled grimly. He tugged on Sam’s arm, and Sam followed him across the street to an old fashioned diner with benches outside. On one of the benches was an African-American man. He looked a little older than John, and he watched them suspiciously as they approached.

“Can I help you, gentlemen?” he asked in a guarded tone.

John pulled his fake Marshal badge from his pocket and held it up to the man. “US Marshal Hill.  We’re looking for a kid. He’d be in his early twenties, and he’ll have a scar around here.” He pointed to the spot Sam had shown him.

“He in some kind of trouble?” the man asked.

“Not sure yet,” John said. “We’re looking to talk to him though.” Sam saw a look of recognition widen John’s eyes slightly, and then he said, “I would appreciate any help you could give, Master Sergeant, Sir.”

The man blinked. “You served?”

John nodded. “Yes, Sir. Echo-2-1. Corporal.”

It was bizarre for Sam to see       John behaving deferentially to someone, but he hid his surprise and waited for the man to answer.

“Delta-4-2,” the man said. “Good to meet you, Corporal.” He considered for a moment and then said, “Yeah, I know someone like that, but he’s a good kid. Keeps his nose clean. Duane Tanner.”

“We’ll bear that in mind,” John said. “Do you know where we might find him?”

“He lives with his family, 219 Aspen Way. Big place, you won’t miss it.”

“Thank you for your help,” John said, even as Sam turned away and walked back to the truck. He dodged around a woman who was pushing a stroller along the street with a child clinging to the handle. His shoulder bumped a telephone pole, and he glanced automatically at it. He stopped dead as he caught sight of the word carved into the wood.

John jogged up behind him and patted his shoulder. “I got directions. Come on, we need to get there… What are you looking at?”

Sam pointed at the word and then looked back to his father in time to see his color fade.

“Croatoan,” he said in a low voice.

Sam nodded. He’d made the connection, too.

“In the truck,” John said curtly.

Sam climbed in and sat waiting for John to join him, impatiently tapping his fingers on his knee.

John got in and started the engine, but he didn’t pull away from the sidewalk. “Roanoke,” John said, glancing at Sam. “You know the story?”

Sam nodded. He had studied it in school: the early settlement that was wiped out overnight by an unknown someone or something.

“It was a demon that took out the town, I am almost sure. I think Croatoan was one of the names it went by, also known as Deva or sometimes Resheph—a demon of plague and pestilence. Sam, this is bad.”

That was not news to Sam. He had seen that man shot point blank by Dean because something was apparently _in_ him. Was that the demon John was talking about: Croatoan? No wonder Dean had taken him out. For a moment, he regretted his choice to keep Dean out of what was happening. They needed all the fighters for this they could get. Then reason caught up to him. This _was_ bad. Possibly as bad as things could get without it being Yellow-Eyes himself. He didn’t want Dean to be a part of that. He wanted him safe.

“I need you to do something for me, Sammy,” John said. His tone combined with the nickname worried Sam. His father sounded almost scared. “I need you to leave.”

Sam’s hands clenched into fists. Not a chance. There was no way he was leaving his father to fight this alone. He shook his head roughly.

“Son, this is bad, and I need you safe. Steal a car and get out of here. Get back to Dean. I’ll be right behind you, okay?”

Sam shook his head again. Never going to happen.

“Dammit, Sam, I am giving you an order now! You will leave!”

Sam stared him in the eye and pointedly shook his head. If he’d had words, he would have explained that this was one order he could never obey—to leave his father to fight this alone. He was staying and fighting at John’s side, and if it was his last fight, so be it. It wasn’t like he was saving many lives these days anyway.

John glared at him. “Sam, you will obey me on this.”

Sam crossed his arms over his chest and stared out of the window, making the action a clear sign that he was done. Nothing John could say was going to change his mind.

“Shit!” John spat as he put the car into gear and pulled away from the sidewalk fast enough to draw worried looks from passersby. “I promised, Sam. I promised him!”  

Sam didn’t know who or what he had promised, but Sam wasn’t budging. He was in this to the end. And it would not be John’s end. He would make sure of it. He still had work to do.  

xXx

“So, when Duane gets back, is there a number where he can get a hold of you?” Mr. Tanner asked, while the son stared speculatively at Sam. It could just have been in reaction and curiosity to his silence, but Sam didn’t think so. He thought this kid was hiding something. The whole conversation that was happening around and without Sam was a little too Stepford for his instincts to ignore.

Apparently John was feeling some of the same instinctual foreboding as he said, “That’s okay. We'll just check in with you later.” He managed to make it sound like a threat.  

Sam waited until the door closed softly behind the men and turned to his father, his hand drifting to the gun tucked into his pants at the small of his back.

John saw the motion and nodded his agreement. “Something’s not right.” He glanced at the door for a moment and then said, “You take left; I’ll go right. Stay low.”

Sam nodded and clicked off the safety of his gun. Holding it in front of him, he crept around the house, peering into windows as he went by. There was nothing to see but rooms of a normal family home until he reached the back of the house and looked through window of the back door. There was woman in a chair, flanked by the father and son John had spoken to less than a minute ago. The woman was bound and gagged, with a bloody gash on her arm, and her husband was holding a knife above her.

“Shit,” John breathed, appearing beside him at the small window.

Sam stepped back and gripped the balustrade of the steps to give himself leverage, and then kicked at the door right above the lock. It took two kicks before it flew open and Sam rushed in.

The man was still gripping the knife, and he rushed at Sam with it held aloft. Sam aimed and pulled the trigger without hesitation. The bullet hit the center of the man’s forehead, sending a spray of blood into the air behind him. A second later, there was another crack and the son dropped to the floor as John took his shot.

The woman in the chair was screaming through her gag, and tears were streaming down her face. Sam picked up the knife from the floor and used it to cut through her restraints as John untied her gag.

“What’s happening? What did you do?” she wailed.

“We saved your life,” John said.

“What was wrong with them?” she asked.

“Don’t know yet.”

Her eyes were wide and she was shaking violently. Sam thought she was going into shock. He wished there was something he could say to comfort her. Again, his inability to talk meant he was useless in the face of someone’s suffering.

He patted his father’s arm and pointed at the woman, hoping John would get the idea that he needed to say something.

“We’ll get her taken care of,” John said. “I saw a medical center in town.”

That wasn’t what Sam wanted, but it seemed to soothe the woman. “Doctor Lee,” she said. “Yes. I need to see Doctor Lee.”

“You get her into the truck and I’ll bring the bodies,” John said.

The word made the woman whimper. Sam tugged her to her feet and led her out the back door, keeping an arm around her waist to support her. She shook against him and cries slipped from her with questions. “Who are you people? What happened to my husband? He was going to kill me. He cut me.”

Sam couldn’t try to communicate with her while helping her walk, so he just held her tighter and hoped that would help a little. When they got to the truck, he helped her in and patted her hand. She looked into his eyes, and he thought he saw something flicker in them—some understanding maybe—but at that moment John came out of the house with a blanket wrapped body over his shoulder and the moment was broken as she started to sob again.

Sam patted John’s arm and pointed at the woman and then house, indicating that he was going to get the second body and John should stay with her. Sam thought he would at least be able to talk to her, even if he wasn’t very comforting. John either didn’t understand or chose not to cooperate, though, as he just turned away and walked back into the house.

Sam wished Dean was there. He seemed to have some understanding of what Sam was trying to communicate most of the time. He respected Sam’s choices, too. He would have stayed with the woman and done what Sam couldn’t—help her.

He climbed into the truck beside the woman and patted her arm in what he hoped was a comforting way. She slumped against him and spoke in a whisper. “Why would they do that to me?”

Sam closed his eyes and wished for his words for what felt like the thousandth time.

After a minute, he heard John slamming the cover over the truck bed. He climbed in behind the wheel and brought the powerful engine to life then reversed and turned onto the road in silence. Sam wondered if he even felt the tension in the cab that he could at least try to dispel with some comforting words.

When they reached the medical center, John pulled over and he and Sam climbed out. Sam walked around to the woman’s side of the car and opened the door. She climbed out at once, and made her way unsteadily to the glass door that bore the emblem _River Grove Medical Clinic._ She pushed it open, calling, “Doctor Lee?”

Sam gave John a pointed look, trying to communicate that he should go in with her, and John nodded. “Bring in the bodies. I want the doc to get a look at them. See if she knows what we’re working with.”

Sam opened up the truck bed and pulled the closest body to him. He hefted it over his shoulder and walked through the doors into the clinic.

“…bloods for certain,” John was saying, “and everything else you can think to check. I want to know _anything_ you find.”

“Whose bloods?” the woman Sam assumed was the doctor asked.

“Hers and theirs,” John said, pointing at Mrs. Tanner and then the covered body Sam had just set down on the reception counter. “And there’s another in the truck.”

The doctor looked sickened. “Who are they?”

“It’s Rick and Jake,” Mrs. Tanner said, beginning to cry again. “They attacked me, tried to kill me, and these men shot them.”

The doctor narrowed her eyes at John. “You shot them?”

John held up his badge. “US Marshals, ma’am.”

“Well, Marshal, I need the coroner, and you need the sheriff.”

“The phones are down,” a young woman in a floral scrub top said. “I tried calling the cops already.”

Sam pulled his phone out of his pocket and flipped it open. He had no service. If he was going to take out a town, the first thing he would do is disable all communication systems. If this Croatoan was a demon, it was a damn smart one, and they had no weapon that would work against it.

They had left the Colt at Bobby’s.

xXx

John had been in some pretty tight spots before, being caught by the Yellow-Eyed demon’s lackeys was one of them, but he’d never been in a spot this tight with one of his boys before. That scared him more than he could say. He wished more than anything Sam had left when he’d told him to. It was his typical Winchester luck that Sam would choose a situation like this to rear his stubborn damn nature. If only he had just done as he was ordered…

His son was currently leaning against the wall of the small lab room with the doctor’s assistant beside him. They had explained Sam’s inability to talk and it seemed to intrigue her, as she had stayed close to him since. Sam’s eyes were fixed on the still shell-shocked Mrs. Tanner. He looked almost yearning, and John thought he knew why. Sam was a loquacious being. He was the comforter when things were wrong. He couldn’t do that now without his words. He had to be feeling so useless. John wished he knew the words to comfort him instead. But he didn’t. That was Dean’s specialty—knowing what Sam needed and providing it. 

Sitting at the desk was the doctor, her attention fixed on the microscope in front of her. After a long time of silence, she looked up and said. “Hmmm… That’s weird.”

“What’s weird?” John asked.  

“Rick Tanner — his lymphocyte percentage is pretty high. His body was fighting off a viral infection.”

“What kind of virus?” John asked intensely.  

Sam pushed away from the wall and looked concentratedly at her. The questions he couldn’t ask were roiling in his eyes.

“Can't say for sure,” she replied. “No infection I've ever heard of could make them act like you say they were, though. Some can cause dementia, but not that kind of violence. And besides, I've never heard of one that did this to the blood.”

“Did what?” John asked.

“There's this . . . weird residue. If I didn't know better, I'd say it was sulfur.”

Sam’s eyes snapped to John’s and he thought he knew what his son was thinking—not a demon itself to fight, but a demonic virus that made people crazy with bloodlust.

“Is it in the kid’s body, too?” he asked.

The doctor switched the slides and peered into the eyepiece again. “Yes.” She looked up at John. “Have you ever seen anything like this before?”

“Never seen it,” John said.  

“But you’ve heard of it?”

John started to answer, but at that moment Mrs. Tanner leapt to her feet and grabbed a scalpel from the instrument tray on the table. She lurched toward Sam, the scalpel slashing through the air. Sam dodged to the side and John reacted instinctively. He pulled his gun and shot her twice in the back. When that failed to stop her, he took aim at her head and pulled off another three shots. Her head disappeared in a spatter of gore.

The doctor’s assistant, Pamela, screamed as the blood spattered her uniform. “It’s on me!” she screamed. “Oh God, it’s on me!”

“Calm down, Pamela,” the doctor commanded. “You’re okay.”

John rushed at Sam. “Are you okay?” he asked. “Did she get you?”

Sam patted down his body and shook his head. He had blood on his shirt, but his face, his mouth and eyes, were clear.

“Thank God,” John whispered, breathing a sigh of relief.

The doctor was leading Pam out of the room, talking about cleaning her up, and John watched her go.

Sam was staring at the body on the floor, looking stricken, and John rallied for something to say. He could think of nothing though, and he was almost grateful when there was a cacophony of noise from the lobby.

He and Sam rushed out to see a kid hammering of the door. His face was twisted with fear and he was shouting, “Let me in! Please, let me in! They’re coming!”

John hesitated, but Sam acted. He rushed to the door and unlocked it.

The kid spilled in, his breaths coming in pants. “Thank you. Oh God, thank you.”

“What the hell, Sam?” John growled.

Sam turned on him and pointed at the kid’s temple. John saw what he was trying to show at once. The kid had a scar where Sam had indicated before. This was the kid they’d been looking for, the one from Sam’s vision.

The doctor rushed out of the door marked restroom and skidded to a stop. “Duane! What happened to you?”

The kid babbled about seeing a neighbor being set upon by people he knew, cutting them with knives, but John’s attention was fixed on the kid’s leg. There was a rip in his jeans leg and blood staining the denim.

“He’s bleeding,” he said.

The doctor looked down. “What happened to you, Duane?”

“I was scared,” the kid said. “I was running. I must have tripped.”

“Tie him down,” John said harshly.

The kid gasped. “What? No!”

The doctor’s gaze snapped to John. “Do you really think…?”

“I think we have seen three people go rabid so far, and the only connection I can think of is blood. If he’s not infected, it’s not going to hurt him to be locked down awhile. If he is, we’re protected.”

“No,” the kid gasped. “You can’t do that to me. What if they come back?”

“We’ll protect you,” John said, grabbing his arm and dragging him into a room marked _Consultation Room._ Sam carried in a chair and John pushed him into it.

“You got any rope?” he asked the doctor.

“Why would I have rope?” she asked. “Never mind. I have some adhesive wraps. He won’t able to break out of that.”  

She left the room and came back with two rolls of white bandages. John unrolled them with difficulty—the glue was strong—and used it to wrap the kid tightly to the chair. All the while the kid gabbled but he didn’t fight them. When he was secure, John nodded to Sam and left the room. Sam followed and when they were back in the privacy of the small lab where the Tanners’ bodies were being kept, he turned to Sam and said. “You saw this kid?”

Sam nodded.

“What did you see?”

Sam looked frustrated and John realized his mistake. How was Sam supposed to tell him? Sam rooted in his pocket, though, and pulled out his wallet. He opened an inner pocket and pulled out a photograph of Dean. It was a recent shot, carried at John’s instruction in case they ever needed to identify each other to a stranger in case of emergency.

“You saw Dean?” he asked.

Sam nodded and patted the photo and then pulled his gun from his pants. He aimed it at the wall and made the motion of taking a shot.

“He shot Dean?” John asked, horror curdling in his gut.

Sam shook his head and thumbed over his shoulder toward the room where they’d left the kid.

“Dean shot the kid?” he asked.

Sam nodded vigorously.

“Is he a danger to us?” John asked.

Sam considered for a moment and then shrugged.

“Why didn’t you let Dean come?”

Sam glared at him and lifted the gun again.

“You didn’t want him to be killed?”

Sam pointed at the photo of Dean again, and John thought he understood.

“You didn’t want _Dean_ to kill him?”

Sam stared into his eyes and then nodded.

John raised his own gun. “Should I do it?”

Sam shook his head and pushed the gun down then pointed at his eyes and then the watch on his wrist.

“Wait?” John asked. “Watch?”

Sam looked relieved as he nodded.

“Okay,” John said. “I’m trusting you on this, Sam, but only for now. If I think he’s a danger to us, I am taking him down. Understand?”

Sam didn’t respond. He just turned away and walked back out of the room.

“I mean it, Sam,” he said to Sam’s retreating back. “I will protect these people. I will protect you.”

He had promised. 

xXx

“When Beverly came in, I took bloods,” the doctor said. “They were clear. These, though, I took after she died. They’re rich with what I can only describe as sulfur. She showed no sign of infection until she turned, and that took four hours.”

“And Duane,” John asked. “Is he infected?”

“I don’t know. It seems likely, with that cut on his leg, but his blood is clean right now. We’ll have to wait and see.”

Sam listened to them talking in his forced silence. He had nothing to say anyway. His thoughts kept drifting to the person they had tied down in the other room. Was he infected? Had Sam made a mistake not letting John kill him already? If he was infected, it was unlikely that they would be able to hold him long. But it just felt wrong. He might not be. He could be an innocent like Pam and the doctor. They couldn’t end a life on the possibility that he _might_ become dangerous.

There was a ruckus in the lobby then, and Sam heard a new voice speaking rapidly. “What the hell’s going on here? Vic Rogers came at me with a hatchet, and now the road out of town is blocked. I had to kill the Anderson brothers to get away alive.”

They rushed out of the room and Sam saw the Marine they’d spoken to before. His eyes were wild and his demeanor tense.

“Did they cut you?” John asked him at once.

“You!” he said. “What are you doing here?”

“Did they cut you?” John asked again.

“What? No!”

“Are you sure, Mark?” the doctor asked.

“I think I’d know,” he said. “Do you want to give me an exam in case?”

He was clearly being sarcastic, but John apparently thought it was a good idea. “Actually, yes, and we’ll take some blood, too, if you don’t mind.” he said. “Doc?”

“You have to be kidding!” Mark said.

“Not even a little,” John said.

Throwing his arms up, the man walked into the consultation room and stopped dead. “Why do you have Duane Tanner tied down in here?”

John sighed.  “Long story.”

Mark narrowed his eyes. “You’re not really Marshals, are you?”

“No,” John admitted. “We’re the people that are going to get you out of this alive.”

“Come on, Mark,” the doctor said. “Let’s get you checked out and then we can explain.”

He allowed her to lead him into another room and they clicked the door shut behind them.

John turned to Sam. “We’ve got to do something. We can’t let this spread.”

Sam nodded his agreement. The infected were apparently blocking their escape now, but who knew what they would do next. It might not be enough for them to just take out a town. They might be gunning for the state. Hell, this could spread across the country. They had to take out the infected before they got smart and left. They needed weapons. Sam had a spare clip, and John maybe a few more in the truck, but that wouldn’t be enough to deal with a town of infected. They needed to be able to arm everyone.

Sam’s eyes roved the reception, looking for anything they could use as a weapon. His eyes fell on a door marked _Storeroom,_ and an idea kindled in his chest.

He tried the door and found it unlocked. He went in and scanned the shelves for what he needed. He found it on the top shelf: bottles of alcohol. He grabbed a couple and a pack of gauze bandage then carried it out to the reception area.

“Molotov bombs,” John said, understanding at once. “That’s damn clever, Sammy.”

Sam smiled slightly.

Just then, Mark and the doctor came out of the room they’d used; Mark was buttoning his shirt.

“He’s clean,” the doctor said.

“Good.” John raised one of the bottles of alcohol. “We’ve got a plan, too. We’re going fight our way out of town.”

Mark understood at once. “Molotovs. That’s damn smart.”

Sam made for the treatment room to see what else there was for them to work with while John and Mark set to work unwinding the rolls of gauze bandage. He was filling his arms with gauze when he heard the door close behind him. He turned and saw Pamela clicking the lock into place.

He questioned her with his eyes. She smiled at him, then picked up a fire extinguisher and lobbed it at him. He made to catch it but it was too heavy and the air was driven out of him as it hit his chest. She lurched forward, driving him with unnatural strength back against the wall where his head hit hard, stunning him and making his vision waver.

He felt himself being spun forcefully and shoved back onto the floor, his gun pressing into the small of his back. There was a flare of pain on his chest, and he struggled, but Pamela was straddling him. She cut across her palm, and he bucked harder as he realized what she was going to do. She smeared her bloody palm over his wound, mixing their blood. The fury gave Sam strength, and he thrust her back by the shoulders. She sprawled away from him, her head colliding with the corner of a cabinet. He pulled his gun and shot her pointblank in the chest, right over the heart. She jolted as the bullet hit and then became perfectly still.

xXx

John saw Pamela follow Sam into the room. He thought nothing of it until he heard the door click closed and he turned. “Sammy?”

The door had a thick glass window and he saw the girl’s face at it for a moment; she was smiling strangely. It made John nervous. He walked toward it and tried the door, but it had been locked.

“Hey,” he called, “Open up.”

He saw the girl pick up the fire extinguisher and he knew instantly something was very wrong. He pulled back and, ignoring the doctor’s cry of confused protest, he aimed a kick at the lock. It didn’t budge. He pulled back again and thrust his shoulder into the door. It was too strong though, a fire door, and he couldn’t get enough force behind him to break it. It would take a police enforcer ram to get it down. He didn’t stop trying though, because he had a sick fear that something awful was happening to his son behind that door.

There was the crack of a gunshot, and he shouted, “Sammy!” as he pressed his face to the window. At first he couldn’t see anything but motionless body of the girl on the floor, and then Sam stepped into view. He came toward the door and clicked the lock open. John thrust open the door and rushed at Sam, grabbing his shoulders and shaking him hard. “Are you okay?”

Sam shook his head. He pulled back from John’s grip and tugged the collar of his shirt, revealing a bloody smear and thin cut below the hollow of his throat.

“Oh, God, Sammy,” he groaned, feeling the bottom drop out of his stomach.

“He’s infected,” a voice spoke behind him.

Sam looked past John and nodded solemnly.

“No,” John rasped.

The doctor stepped into his view and said, “I am so sorry.”

Sam just stared into her eyes, and John saw his defeat. He was resigned to his fate. He turned away from John and walked further into the room. He perched on the edge of the exam table and bowed his head. John thought he saw something silvery drop from Sam’s face to his lap.

“We need to talk,” the marine said, tugging John’s arm and leading him out of the room.

John let himself be led, feeling like a coward because he couldn’t stay in that room and watch his son crying.

“I’m sorry,” the marine said. “The doctor has filled me in on what’s happening. I wish there was something I could do for your friend.”

John shook his head. The words were empty. This man didn’t know Sam; he didn’t understand who he was. He couldn’t know the true tragedy this was.

“We have to take him out before he turns,” the marine said.

“No!” John growled.

“Yes,” he said mercilessly. “I know he’s your friend, but this is the only way to stop him from spreading it to others.”

“He’s not my friend,” John said. “He’s my son. I am not letting him die.”

“It will be a mercy,” the doctor said. “It’s better that he dies human than one of those rabid monsters.”

John turned away. The guilt and pain was crippling him. He had promised, dammit. He had said he would take care of him. It was his job. Sam was his son; he was supposed to protect him from things like this. But he knew, guiltily, that if the situation was different, if it wasn’t Sam, he would be saying the exact same thing as these people. He would cite the death of a person as more humane than letting him or her turn into a monster. He would support the choice.

But it was Sam. It was his boy.

“Leave,” he said quietly.

“What?” the doctor asked although she certainly must have heard him.

“Leave,” he said again. “Make the bombs and get out of town. Take the kid and save yourselves. I’ll take care of the rest.”

“What are you going to do?” the marine asked.

“I’m going to take care of my son.”

He turned away and walked into the room where Sam was sitting staring down at the floor.

xXx

Sam heard his father come into the room, but he couldn’t look up to face him because of his shame. He had let him down, letting himself get infected. He should have been more careful. He should have fought harder. He had failed.

“Sammy,” John said. “Look at me, please.” It was the fact it wasn’t a command but a request that made Sam look up. John rarely sounded gentle like this.

When he looked into his father’s face, he saw sadness like he hadn’t seen for a long time. He was wrecked with it. It made Sam feel even worse about his failure to protect himself. 

He stood and walked toward him, an unspoken apology in his eyes. He felt tears burn his eyes, and when he blinked, they wet his face.

“Don’t cry, Sammy,” John said. “It’s going to be okay. I’m going to take care of you.”

Sam’s expression asked the question he couldn’t vocalize. _How?_

“I’m going to stay. You won’t be alone.”

 _No_! Sam’s mind screamed the word. He couldn’t do that, not to Sam and not to Dean. Anger surged through him and he turned away.

“I won’t leave you,” John said again. “I sent Mark and the doc away. You and me can do this alone.”

What was he planning? Would he stay until Sam was out of his mind with bloodlust and end him then, or would he allow Sam to infect him and make them both insane? They couldn’t do that. They would find a way out eventually, and they would kill and spread this disease among normal, clean people. No. John would never let that happen. He was planning for them to go down together.

Sam had made peace with how it was going to end for him, but he couldn’t make peace with that happening to his father, too.

He reached into his pocket for the photograph of Dean he had used to illustrate his vision before and slapped it against John’s chest. His message was clear— _You cannot do that to him!_

Dean wouldn’t survive it. He was going to struggle with losing Sam. He would need his father to get through that. He would never be able to survive losing his father, too.

John took the photo and smiled sadly down at Dean’s frozen face. “I know,” he said. “It hurts me, too, but it’s the only way, son.”

Sam took out his wallet and pulled the other two photographs he stored in there. One was a miniature of the picture he had in his Stanford apartment—John and Mary, happy together before the horror of the supernatural touched their lives. The other was Sam and Jess. Jess, young, beautiful, alive, was smiling up at Sam as if he was all she had ever needed in life.

He slammed the photos down on the counter and pointed from Mary’s face to Jessica’s. John had to stay alive to finish this. They both, Jess and Mary, needed to be avenged. Sam couldn’t be a part of that now, but John could. He could to it for them both.

“I understand,” John said. “I know you loved them, but, Sammy, I can’t leave you. Dean will finish this for us both.”

Did he really believe that? Sam didn’t. He could no more imagine Dean fighting on without them than he would have been able to himself. 

John had to live.

He looked into his father’s eyes and saw the resolution there. He was determined to do this, go down with Sam. He would not allow it.

He stepped back from his father and turned away. He took a breath and then spun around, hitting John with a powerful roundhouse blow that caught his jaw and sent him reeling backwards unconscious. Sam grabbed his shoulders and caught him before he could drop. He held him against his chest for a moment, absorbing this last contact with his father, and then he dragged him out of the room into the empty reception. He set him down gently on the floor and pillowed his head on his jacket.

“Sorry, Dad,” he said, unmindful of the fact the words wouldn’t make any sense to John even if he was awake.

He walked back into the room where Pamela’s body lay and closed the door behind him. He clicked the lock into place and rested his head against the glass for a moment. He knew what he had to do next, and he knew he had to do it while he still could, but he still hesitated. 

Then the truth of the situation settled over him. He had no choice. He was a hunter, he saved lives; he would not take them because of some damn virus. He would end this on his own terms. He usually fought to save; he would die to save this time.

He closed his eyes.

xXx

Dean slowed and came to a stop as he came within sight of the sign welcoming him to River Grove. There were two cars parked in the road across the lanes. It looked like someone had set up an improvised roadblock and deserted it. He reached for his gun on the seat beside him and cocked it then slowly got out of the car and looked up and down the road for a sign of life. There was none, but there were two bodies in front of the cars. They were young men, similar looking, Dean guessed brothers. They had both been shot.

Feeling sick with worry, Dean pulled out his phone again to call his dad, as he had a dozen times on the journey, but he had no service.

“Damn,” he said quietly.

He eyed the space between the two parked cars and shook his head. There was no way the Impala was making it through that gap. He glanced to the side and saw there was maybe enough space between the side of the road and the trench dug into the field beside him. In ordinary circumstances he would never risk his car like that, but these weren’t ordinary circumstances. His brother and father were somewhere ahead of him on the road and he needed to get to them.

He got back into the car and set the gun down then slowly reversed back, aiming the car at the narrow space. 

“Come on, Baby,” he muttered. “Don’t let me down.”

Though he wanted to rush and get to them faster, he made himself take the maneuver slowly and carefully, squeezing through the gap. When the tail of the car was through, he breathed a sigh of relief and put his foot down on the gas hard. The wheels skidded and then he was powering along the road again.

The fields he was passing became houses and he knew he was nearing the center of town, but there was something that made him nervous; he hadn’t seen a single person on the way, though he had passed a few more abandoned cars, one of which had the hood up. It was like the town had been emptied. For what felt like the hundredth time, he wondered what it was Sam had seen in his vision.

He drove on another mile before he saw the people walking at the side of the road in the distance. They heard him at the same time Dean spotted them, and they spun to face him. It was a middle-aged man and a woman and kid who looked around Sam’s age, in whose hands were what looked like Molotov bombs. The woman stepped back behind the man and he brought up a rifle to his shoulder while the kid hesitated at his side, apparently wanting to be brave but looking scared.

Dean brought the car skidding to a halt and grabbed his gun. The man was slowly stalking forward, his gun aimed at Dean.

Dean was frozen in place. Any attempt to get out of the car could be taken as threatening. It could get him killed, but he couldn’t just sit in the car and wait for the guy to shoot him. Dean wondered if that was what Sam had seen: him being taken out in the Impala. He slowly raised a hand in a gesture of innocence. The man aiming at him apparently didn’t get the meaning of innocence though as he chose that moment to pull the trigger.

Nothing happened. Dean was thanking his rarely lucky stars even as he threw himself out of the car and aimed his own gun at the man who was frantically pulling the trigger.

“I wouldn’t bother,” Dean said. “Sounds like it’s jammed.”

The woman cowered behind the man and he threw his arms wide. “Fine. Shoot me. I’d rather die than become what you are!”

“An Aquarius?” Dean asked, adrenaline making him giddy. “We’re not so bad.” The man looked at him blankly and Dean went on. “I don’t know what you think I am, but I’m not. I’m human.”

“So were they all once,” the man said.

“So were who?” Dean asked. “Never mind. Look, my name’s Dean Winchester. I’ve no idea what’s going on here, but I’m looking for my brother and dad. Tall man, dark hair, leather jacket. Even taller kid. Have you seen them?”

The woman peered around the man and said, “The Marshals?”

“They weren’t really Marshals,” the man said.

“That’s them!” Dean said eagerly. “Where are they?”

The man narrowed his eyes. “You’re really not infected?”

“No,” Dean said. “I _just_ got into town, and all I want to do is find my family.”

The woman stepped around the man and said, “I think he’s telling the truth, Mark.”

“Yeah, me too,” The kid said.

The man, Mark, lowered his useless gun and sighed. “They’re back at the medical center. He sent us away after the kid…”

“The kid what?” Dean asked, his voice strained.

“Got attacked,” the man finished.

Dean swallowed hard. “He’s okay though, right?”

“He’s alive.” 

The man’s words didn’t comfort Dean as, from his tone, it sounded to him like Sam might not be alive for long.

He made for the car again, his only thought to get to Sam and his dad.

“Wait,” the man shouted. “Take us with you.”

Dean waved an impatient hand as he threw himself in behind the wheel. The kid and woman ran forward and climbed into back of the car, and the man in the front. Dean brought the engine to life and roared along the center of the road.

“What’s happened here?” he asked.

“There’s some kind of infection,” the woman said. “It makes people crazy and violent. They’ve been attacking people, trying to kill and infect them. It started this morning. My assistant, Pam, was infected and she attacked…”

“My brother,” Dean said through gritted teeth.

“Yes,” the woman said quietly.

“How bad is he hurt?” Dean asked.

“Not very,” the woman answered, and then she hesitated.

“He’s hardly hurt at all,” the man said. “He’s infected.”

Dean slammed his foot down on the gas.

“Your dad sent us away,” the woman said. “We thought we’d have to fight out way out, but the town seems to be empty now. We haven’t seen a single person other than you. Mark’s car broke down and we started walking. We were heading back to the clinic when you came.”

Dean nodded stiffly and said, “So if this is an infection, there has to be a cure, right? Some way to make Sam better?”

“I don’t think so,” the woman said. “I am a doctor and I examined the blood; there’s sulfur in it. I’ve never seen anything like it, and I wouldn’t even know where to start to treat it.“

“You’ll find a way,” Dean said, a command not encouragement.

The man shook his head. “I don’t think it’ll be that easy.”

“I don’t care if it’s easy,” Dean snapped. “I care that it works. That’s my brother you’re talking about, saying he’s going to become a murderous lunatic. That is _not_ happening, understand? You will fix him!”

“I’ll try.”

“Good. Now, where’s this clinic?”

“Take the next left.”

Dean saw the truck parked on the side of the road and he pulled the impala to a hard halt behind it. Barely aware of cutting the engine and climbing out, he raced toward the clinic doors and pushed at them. They were locked though. He rattled them, and John appeared a moment later, looking pale and unsteady, with a welt on his jaw. His eyes widened when he caught sight of Dean and then his expression morphed into sadness.

He unlocked the door and eased it open. Dean pushed past him and demanded, “Where’s Sam?” 

“He locked himself in,” John said, his tone broken.

“You let him?” Dean asked.

“I didn’t let him do anything! He knocked me out. I woke up out here.”

“Where is he?” Dean asked.

“Through here.”

John led him to a door with a window set into it and Dean shoved him aside to look in. What he saw there made bile rise in his throat and his heart falter.

“Sammy!” he shouted.

Sam turned quickly to face him, his expression stunned as he slowly lowered the gun from his temple.

xXx

Sam felt ready. He wasn’t eager, but he was willing. This was the only way to make things right.

He looked down at the photographs on the exam table beside him: Dean, his parents, and Jessica—the people he loved. He wondered if he would see any of them again. How did Heaven work? Would he even make it there? Would the fact he was committing a mortal sin send him to Hell, or would he go there because he had died infected? He prepared himself for one while hoping for the other. 

He lifted the gun to his temple and took a breath. A kind of numbness settled over him, making his heart slow and his senses dull.

“Goodbye, Dean,” he whispered and his finger touched the trigger.

“Sammy!”

Sam turned automatically, lowering the gun slightly. He wondered if he was hallucinating the voice, but then he saw the face at the window set into the door and his heart failed. Dean was there.

“Sammy, no!” Dean bellowed. “Stop! Put it down!”

Sam looked at the gun in his hand as if seeing it for the first time. His mind felt slow and sluggish. Dean’s sudden arrival had thrown him off track. What was Dean even doing there? He was supposed to be safe in Sioux Falls, away from this nightmare.

There was movement at the window and Dean was thrust out of the way. John’s face appeared. “Sam! Put the gun down!”

Sam shook his head sadly. He couldn’t do that. He had to end it before he couldn’t make that last human choice for himself anymore.

“Sam, I am ordering you…” In contrast to his firm words, John sounded weak and wrecked. He didn’t have a command in him; he only had a plea.

Sam looked into his sad eyes and felt a wave of terrible guilt. How could he have let this happen? Why hadn’t he protected himself? He should have acted sooner. If he had done it when John was unconscious, John and Dean wouldn’t have this moment to torment them in future. They would forever remember this exchange now, and they would second guess every word. They would wonder what they could have said to reach Sam, when the truth was there was nothing. Sam had to die to save them.

He shook his head again.

“Son, please,” John said in a cracked voice. “No.”

He moved to the side slightly and Sam saw Dean’s face appear beside his father’s. So many times since he had lost his words he had prayed to have them back, but never more than in that moment, as he wanted to tell his father and Dean how much he cared. He wanted to thank Dean for keeping him alive after he lost Jess. If it wasn’t for his brother, he would have swallowed a bullet a long time ago. He wanted to thank his father for protecting him. He would tell him he understood the choices he had made. He wanted to thank them both for the portion of a childhood he’d had before he’d found out about the real world, the innocence he’d only had because of their careful protection.

He wouldn’t need to tell them why he had to do this because they already knew. 

He stared into their beloved faces and then walked deeper into the room, out of their line of sight. He raised the gun to his temple, closed his eyes, and took a breath. His finger found the trigger, and he was on the point of taking the shot when he heard he father shout, “Dean! No!” in an anguished voice.

Sam reacted automatically; the gun lowering to his side, he raced to the window. Dean was standing close to the glass. Pressed against his temple was the muzzle of his gun. His eyes were tight with pain and there were tears on his cheeks, but his expression was determined.

“No!” Sam gasped, not knowing what word had actually escaped him.

But Dean understood and nodded soberly. “I have to, Sam. I can’t hold it together without you.”

Sam shook his head roughly. Dean couldn’t. He still had so much to live for. It was over for Sam. It didn’t have to be for Dean. And John… Their father had lost so much. He couldn’t lose them both.

“You don’t think I’ll do it?” Dean asked. “You pull that trigger, I will, too. That’s a promise.”

Sam felt tears burning a path down his cheeks, and he used his free hand to swipe them away. He wanted to beg Dean not to do it, but he had no words. He was trapped inside his useless brain without a way to save his brother’s life; no way but to not take his own.

But that couldn’t work. He was infected. He was going to become one of those rabid monsters soon, and what would happen then? Would it take Sam baying for their blood for them to let him go? Would they be able to do it even then, or would one of the others, the marine or the doc, take him out?

Sam shook his head sadly. This was a nightmare. There was only one way to save Dean, and that was to let himself be lost. He had to give up the idea of a human death and let himself become a monster. Perhaps then Dean would see he had to live, even if only to avenge Sam as well as Mary and Jess.

He looked into Dean’s determined face and slowly raised his hands in defeat. He walked back a few steps and placed the gun carefully on the counter beside the photographs of the people he loved. The loss of its comforting weight in his hands felt wrong.

“Move away,” Dean ordered.

Sam did as he said, and watched as Dean slowly lowered his own gun. Then there was a gunshot, and Sam felt a rush of panic, thinking something had gone wrong, but then the door was flying open and John and Dean were in the room. Dean grabbed Sam and dragged him into an embrace while John grabbed Sam’s gun from the counter and ejected the magazine.

“Dammit, Sammy, you don’t do that, you understand?” Dean said. “You can’t do that to us.”

Sam could hear the tears in his voice, and he held Dean tightly against him. John appeared in his line of sight behind Dean, and Sam looked into his tired and wet eyes. No words were spoken because they weren’t needed. Sam knew what he had done to John and Dean because Dean had done it to him, and they knew why Sam had come to that conclusion.

It still wasn’t over. Sam was going to turn and someone was going to have to deal with that, but for now, Sam was going to just hold his brother and enjoy this, what was sure to be the last, embrace.  

xXx

Blood still pulsed from the man’s slit throat but the demon formerly called Duane Tanner had enough to make his call. It bubbled and pulsed in the bowl, and then a voice whispered to him.

“Well?”

“It's over; you'll be pleased. I don't think any more tests are necessary. The Winchester boy, definitely immune, as expected. Yes, of course. Nothing left behind.”

Nothing but the Winchesters. They were powering away now in their gas guzzler of a car with no idea of what the ‘miracle’ of Sam’s immunity meant. They would know soon though, as things were falling into place.

 

 


End file.
